


On the Embassy Balcony

by ultragirlvfr750



Category: 00M - Fandom, James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: And never for this fandom, F/M, Haven't written fanfic in awhile, Not sure even what this is, Please be kind to my mistakes, These two have sort of taken over my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6743272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultragirlvfr750/pseuds/ultragirlvfr750





	On the Embassy Balcony

He sees her alone on the balcony. Instantly he stiffens, ignoring the champagne, the waitress and the woman in the black dress on whom his attention is supposed to land. 

Embassy parties. They’re all the same; conversation in coded intrigue, the men in tuxedos, the women in gowns all cut to accentuate smooth skin and sleek lines. 

“Excuse me,” he mumbles and strides away from the noise, toward the figure on the balcony, backlit, her hair dazzling white under the stars and her own stately gown falling tastefully off her shoulders, tapering slightly at the waist and then swelling over the curve of her hip ending sensibly, if not seductively at mid-calf. He realizes absently that her legs are rarely exposed and he steals a moment to simply gaze at her before he slips across the balcony floor.

He tells himself that it’s his duty to be here. To protect her as it seems she’s stubborn enough to have slipped away from her security detail. But his heart knows better. It is so seldom they are ever truly alone.

“Were you never taught it’s poor form to sneak up on your superiors, 007?” she asks without turning around.

Somehow she knows it’s him. But then she always knows.

“Stealth is an integral part of my job description, M’am,” he answers, “it comes with the territory. Not to mention I would be remiss in my duty to leave you out here on your own.”

“You're aware that I do have a security detail?" she snaps.

He snorts, moving next to her at the railing.

“You mean those second-raters who never manage to detect me breaking into your flat?”

“Ah yes, last evening's infraction. Unoriginal," she tuts, "but perhaps best addressed at later time," her voice sounds pensive and Bond waits for her to speak again. 

He’s close enough to her that he can smell the perfume she’s chosen for the evening. Something sweet but with a hint of musk. Gardenia? Scent has never been his strong suit but he knows what he likes and his nostrils flutter slightly as he tries to memorize this smell. 

Another stolen memory to tuck away. 

He observes her out of the corner of his eye, the muted light washing over her strong features, softening each and every line. There are many, most of them down to something he’s done, and he admires them all. Her features are strong. M is a handsome woman, her beauty brought forth by age not hampered by it. She is not smooth, nor pretty like the endless queue of female assets his job requires he seduce. Her experience, her temperament, the very essence of what he adores in her is etched across every inch of her skin and he thinks he has seen enough pretty to last him a lifetime. It is her lined countenance and her piercing eyes and hers alone that he wishes to gaze upon.

“Do you ever think about retiring 007?” she asks, moving, he is sure, involuntarily closer until her hand is resting only inches from his on the railing. They make an odd pair, hers lined and knuckles slightly gnarled and his scarred and rough, looking almost as old as hers from the beatings they’ve taken at her behest.

“Not with any degree of anticipation, M,am. In my line of work retirement is rarely a positive benefit. It tends to be a life ending affair.”

Her laugh is more of a bark and she turns to face him, her fingers just barely brushing his before she curls her fist at her side.

They are rarely in this close proximity and Bond revels in it, surprised again at how tiny she is. She never seems diminutive behind her desk. Her iron will and utter command of her domain make her stature larger than it is. But in the half light, the sounds of the embassy party muted behind them she seems small, almost fragile and he longs to pull her close to him, to press his lips against her hair, the side of her neck, to fold her into his arms.

“What about you, M,” he risks her moniker instead of the ever tedious ‘M’am’. It’s a risk and her eyes widen but she doesn’t lash out. “Do you ever think you’ll give up the service?”

“And leave MI6 at your mercy?" she snorts, flicking her hand in front of her face with a gesture of dismissal, “You must be deranged. Christ, you’re disaster enough when you’re disobeying my orders. I can’t imagine the bloody mess if I wasn’t around to call you to heel.”

Her voice is light but he knows her too well. Beneath the sting there is something more. Pain? Longing? He’s not sure but he moves instinctively closer and she stops him, palm pushing against his chest.

“No I’lll go out with my boots on, 007. Queen and country and all that.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so M’am I think that’s rather a shame.” he says, purposely keeping his own voice light but his eyes never leave hers. He’s keenly aware that she hasn’t removed her hand from his chest. He can feel the heat under her palm as he leans in imperceptibly, his voice softening.

“I’d consider it,” he pauses, “with you.”

‘You’d bloody well be considering your death warrant, 007,” she snaps, but there is no bite to her words.

His face is only inches from hers and he cups her cheek in his hand. She stiffens immediately, squaring her shoulders and he tenses, anticipating the slap that is surely coming.

“It would be an honour….Olivia,” her name barely a whisper as his lips brush across her mouth. He tastes wine, and cherries and then the slap does come, stinging across his cheek. He raises a hand to the heat and he senses she’s left a mark. 

She is shaking. He can’t help but notice her chest heaving, a flush blooming across her face. Her eyes are blazing and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her this furious.

“James,” she spits his name.

“Olivia?” Her name a question, his voice purposely mild.

She looks as though she will implode, torn between two opposing forces and he stills, holding his breath.

“Goddamnit 007, you stupid, stupid boy. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Her voice is hard but he sees the tears welling in her eyes.

“Yes M’am, I think I do. Why do you think I’ve spent all these years breaking into your flat? It wasn’t to steal your single malt.”

She laughs then. A genuine laugh and he can't check himself. His hands are in her hair, his lips on hers. At first she fights him but then her mouth opens and she accepts his kiss. Her teeth nip against his lower lip and he dares to dart his tongue inside her mouth. She groans and falls against him, all the fight gone out of her.

She pulls back, her arms around his neck, up on tip toe to brush her lips next to his ear.

“James…..consider yourself retired.”


End file.
